And thus their dreadful hours compare.
30
     Says Tom, ’Since all men must confess,
  That time lies heavy more or less;
  Why should it be so hard to get
  Till two, a party at piquet? 
  Play might relieve the lagging morn: 
  By cards long wintry nights are borne: 
  Does not quadrille amuse the fair,
  Night after night, throughout the year? 
  Vapours and spleen forgot, at play
  They cheat uncounted hours away.’
40
     ‘My case,’ says Will, ’then must be hard
  By want of skill from play debarred. 
  Courtiers kill time by various ways;
  Dependence wears out half their days. 
  How happy these, whose time ne’er stands! 
  Attendance takes it off their hands. 
  Were it not for this cursed shower
  The park had whiled away an hour. 
  At Court, without or place or view,
  I daily lose an hour or two;
50
  It fully answers my design,
  When I have picked up friends to dine,
  The tavern makes our burden light;
  Wine puts our time and care to flight. 
  At six (hard case!) they call to pay. 
  Where can one go?  I hate the play. 
  From six till ten!  Unless in sleep,
  One cannot spend the hours so cheap. 
  The comedy’s no sooner done,
  But some assembly is begun;
60
  Loit’ring from room to room I stray;
  Converse, but nothing hear or say: 
  Quite tired, from fair to fair I roam. 
  So soon:  I dread the thoughts of home. 
  From thence, to quicken slow-paced night,
  Again my tavern-friends invite: 
  Here too our early mornings pass,
  Till drowsy sleep retards the glass.’ 
     Thus they their wretched life bemoan,
  And make each other’s case their own.
70
     Consider, friends, no hour rolls on,
  But something of your grief is gone. 
  Were you to schemes of business bred,
  Did you the paths of learning tread. 
  Your hours, your days, would fly too fast;
  You’d then regret the minute past,
  Time’s fugitive and light as wind! 
  ’Tis indolence that clogs your mind! 
  That load from off your spirits shake;
  You’ll own and grieve for your mistake;
80
  A while your thoughtless spleen suspend,
  Then read, and (if you can) attend. 
     As Plutus, to divert his care,
  Walked forth one morn to take the air,
  Cupid o’ertook his strutting pace,
  Each stared upon the stranger’s face,
  Till recollection set them right;
  For each knew t’other but by sight. 
  After some complimental talk,
  Time met them, bowed, and joined their walk.
90
  Their chat on various subjects ran,
  But most, what each had done for man. 
  Plutus assumes a haughty air,
  Just like our purse-proud fellows here. 
     ‘Let kings,’ says he, ’let cobblers tell,
  Whose gifts among mankind excel. 
  Consider Courts:  what draws their train?